“What is the matter with people?” she said. “Sometimes they’re simply on edge. . . . Here I come in, make a calm statement about needing frocks, and Amy begins to cry. . . . Anyone can see that I need more than a child of her age does. . . .”
“People are all pigs,” I said, “and want more than they have and more and more and more, and that is the reason you’re so unhappy. You started the bad temper,” I continued (it really was interesting, for she had let her mouth open in astonishment, and astonishment evidently relaxed the spring, for it stayed so), “and then--you wonder what made it. Any girl like Amy looks up to an older sister, and when the older sister complains the entire time, why--she does too! And that’s the reason,” I stated with entire frankness, “that you’re going to miss happiness. You think frocks and having things makes it--well, things and frocks don’t. Responsibility and love and giving make a return, and they only. . . . Look here,” I paused for a moment, and then went on, “Amy adores you, she patterns herself over you; therefore she is beginning to be cross to aunt and never to say a decent thing at home and to complain all the time. That’s what she sees in you----”
Evelyn stood up.
“And,” I hurried on before she could break in, “she will miss real love, as you will, because real love hasn’t enough money for motors and frocks and all she wants. And I think real love is lucky, for all he would get would be a request for more money, complaints and no consideration. Look at Uncle Archie,” I added, and I went on at length about his caring for fishing and never doing it and how he never sat down to a meal without a request of some sort, from one of them, for money.
“That whole business has soured this family,” I said, “and I am glad you are not going to let it sour another--since money is evidently most important to you.”
Then I left. Evelyn had plenty of time to speak, but she didn’t; and what is more she didn’t speak about it later, or tell Aunt Penelope of what I had done. I know it was frightful of me, but, as I said, it was a satisfaction, for I had come in the library one afternoon hunting a book and found Evelyn and Mr. Apthorpe sitting there before a fire. The heavy rugs muffled my footsteps and before I could speak and let them know I was there, I heard, “Four thousand--oh, Herbert, I don’t see how we could. I love you, but how could we manage on that!” And he hadn’t come to call since, so I knew how it ended.
That was what made me so mad--to see her throw away that chance (for it was a big one if she did care) because of greed.
Several weeks went by after that and everyone but Evelyn was nicer to me. She wasn’t unpleasant, but she didn’t notice me. The Doctor said I was a little nervously upset, and that commanded Amy’s respect and made the girls in school splendid to me. Hardly a day went by that I didn’t get gum-drops or a French pastry or have someone offer to let me wear their violets for a half-hour. I liked that. And more for the spirit than for the benefits which I received from it.
Mr. Kempwood was splendid to me all that time and took me for lots of nice drives and to the theatre several times. We became better and better friends, and he began to seem less old and more “S. K.,” a chum.
One night he sent a new servant up to ask if I cared to go walking with him before dinner. I was in the dining-room helping Ito serve aunt’s friends who had been playing auction and were ready to be tea-ed up. When I hunted the man to give him my answer I couldn’t find him, until, looking down the long hall which leads toward the sleeping-rooms, I saw him step from my room.